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With trembling hands, I began the process of cleaning the fresh tattoo. My excitement mingled with a potent cocktail of hope and anxiety as I gently applied the antiseptic. Each careful dab, a silent plea to whatever forces might be listening.
As I covered his skin with a protective layer, the significance settled over me. This wasn’t just ink on skin. If it worked—if it prevented the need for stasis, or even just delayed it—the implications were staggering.
I smoothed the edges of the dressing, my mind racing. If it worked, this tattoo would be a shield of protection and strength etched into Lux. And if it worked for him...
Maybe all of us.
Forever.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts exhilaration and fear. Hope blossomed in my chest, fragile but insistent. After all, losing a week to stasis every time I lost it with Maverick was more than just inconvenient—it was stealing precious moments of my life.
A life I just took back.
As I finished, I let my hand linger over the covered tattoo. So much rested on this small patch of skin.
Our future, our freedom, perhaps even our survival. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the wait ahead. Only time would tell if our gamble would pay off, but for now, that tiny spark of hope was enough.
“My turn.” Maverick sat down in my chair with all the arrogance I’d come to expect… and hated to love. But it was midnight by then, and I was tired.
“Maybe tomorrow, I’m exhausted.”
His features softened, and he nodded. “Alright, you should get some rest.”
I started cleaning the equipment while Stone and Lux chatted in the corner, Maverick wiping things with antiseptic as I handed them to him.
The door chimed, its bell tinkling softly—a sound that suddenly seemed ominous in the quiet shop. A burst of cold air swept through the room, raising goosebumps on my bare arms. My breath caught in my throat as I glanced up, a nameless dread already clawing at my insides.
Time slowed as the impossible became reality before my eyes.
Ivan…
The monster I’d thought—prayed—was dead.
…Now stood in the doorway, larger than life.
Menacing as ever.
Twice as terrifying.
My body reacted before my mind could process the horror. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear. Bile rose in my throat, bitter and burning, as a decade of nightmares avalanched into me all over again. My legs trembled, threatening to give way, but terror kept me rooted to the spot.
Ivan strutted in, his sinister clown face a macabre mask to haunt the darkest of dreams. Dressed all in black, his presence seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. Our eyes met, and the gleam of cruel amusement rang clear in his dark gaze. That smugness played at the corners of his lips—the predator always savoring the fear of his prey.
With a dramatic flourish, he waved his hands over his head, and an opaque bubble shimmered over him. The shop’s lights shuttered strangely through the magical barrier, creating an almost strobe-light effect over Ivan’s painted face.
I wanted to scream.
To run.
To wake up from this nightmare.
I nearly made it.
Almost broke free of him.
But it was too good to be true.
Just like I’d told Oscar.
